Bee in the Bell Jar
by Queenscream
Summary: Two months after defeating Saren, Commander Shepard is asked to investigate a derelict spacecraft where a recorded message plunges the commander into the past of a fellow spectre and the mystery of Cerberus. M.Shep/Ashley, OMC/OMT
1. Chapter I

**Chapter I, You've Got Mail**

In two short months, Commander Shepard noticed just how fast the universe moved around him. If speed was measured by how fast people and media's attention went from one of the biggest incidents in Citadel space back to their everyday lives and going-ons, well, then light speed would be out of business. It was as if once everyone finally understood the potential danger and that could be back again at their front door, they could just as easily ignore it again. Life was moving on, and so must he. When the last of his public interviews were given and the last mountain of reports filled, Shepard then did what he was best at, go right back to work.

While he would never call himself a workaholic, the commander was never one for lengthy leaves. The second he could, he was right back on the Normandy. He was, for lack of a better term, home again, and back to his dysfunctional "family" of sorts. Well, what was left of them, anyway. As he walked around the deck of the Normandy, the feeling of joyous return soon slipped into a painful loneliness. Reality snuck up behind him and sunk her finely manicured nails into his skin.

Everyone had left, one by one, the "family" he had accumulated over his first real mission as a Spectre had their reasons. None of them were an easy pill to swallow. First to leave was Garrus, though his was the easiest to understand. After he proved himself during the mission, he was approached to join the Spectres and Shepard didn't blame the turian's enthusiasm to leave and accept specialized training. Liara was eager to go back to her first and foremost career as an archeologist. Then there was Tali, all bright-eyed over the discoveries she made here, she returned to the Flotilla. Wrex, well, Wrex had business, simple as that. And then there was…Ashley.

In hind-sight, he was ashamed with his own selfishness and for not having the foresight to see the consequences. It first started with a mere day after the mission and he found Williams crying in a quiet corner of the ship. At first surprised to see her like that; he became less and less surprised when it was made clear why she was in such an uncharacteristic state. Survivor's guilt, or at least a form of it. She and Kaiden had never been "bosom buddies" but they worked together, closely, and often he find the two of locked in a friendly game of poker during down time. So to her, sleeping with her Commander on the job shortly after one of your friends died when it could've just has easily been you, was, if nothing, a betrayal. Shepard could offer very little comfort, as this view of thing made him feel the same way. It got worse from there.

It wasn't even a week after the end of his mission that he received a displeased call from Admiral Hackett. Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was to be reassigned to the Dreadnought SSV Kilimanjaro, for fraternization during a critical mission. Though, to count a small victory, his status was the reason she wasn't subjected to a fate worse than a reassignment. Shepard hadn't stopped kicking himself since then, he was under the impression he knew better.

Trying not to punch a wall over spilled milk; Shepard continued his walk around the Normandy, although his mulling turned his walk into more of an aggravated stalk. His last stop was to drop in on Joker, who was already in the pilot's seat, eager as a little kid to "get back on the road," so to speak. Holed up on the Citadel when flying were his only real "legs," Shepard held no misgivings over his enthusiasm.

Joker spotted him first and, beaming, told him; "You've got a hail from fifth fleet."

Shepard was pleased, a distraction, even though he knew better than to use work as means to distract him from the little black rain cloud that hung over his head. "I'll take it in the comm. room." Turning on his heels, he moved with new found vigor.

The second he was in the communications room, he was greeted by Hackett's unhurried and professional voice. "Shepard."

"Admiral." He answered with unintentional coolness. They hadn't spoken since Ashley's reassignment.

Hackett didn't seem to notice his tone, or much care, "I'm glad I caught you, there's something that requires your attention."

"I'm always at the Alliances' disposal, Admiral."

There was a brief hush, most likely Hackett processing if that was sarcastic or not. Then, the conversation continued. "Patrols around Elysium's orbit have spotted a merchant ship floating aimlessly around. This wouldn't be a problem, but…"

"But?"

Following the sound of Hackett clearing his throat, "Someone's modified it to be armed, and it looks deserted, but we suspect it's an act to get by patrol unbothered. However, we didn't want our patrol ships getting too close and risk a firefight. And, seeing how the Normandy is the state-of-the art vessel for stealth, we figured you were the best option to investigate the matter."

Shepard saw sense in the Admiral's reasoning. "Send me the coordinates, I'll investigate the matter ASAP."

Another brief pause until Hackett replied. "Good to hear that, I've sent the coordinates, I'll contact you after your investigation, Fifth fleet out." The message cut, the room was silent again.

Shepard sighed heavily, Hackett hadn't even mentioned Ashley. He suspected he hadn't to avoid any confrontation on the matter, understandable, but he would've at least liked to know how she was doing. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he left the comm. room to notify Joker they were pulling out of dock. After which, he'd plan to suit up prior to arrival and prepare for a routine mission, save for the fact this time he'd be at it alone. The thought of it struck winter in his blood.

FLT wasn't a miracle, it didn't make flights across galaxies any more spectacular or any less boring, they just made the actual voyage possible. It was approximately thirteen hours of uneventful flight time before they were in the Skyllian Verge and another two hours before they were near Elysium. Shepard had been suited six hours ago and had most likely been sweating out any fat he had accumulated during his leave since then.

While Joker zeroed in on the supposedly deserted merchant vessel, Shepard was now in the helm room, walking around to kill time and get a feel for a suit he hadn't worn in almost over a month, his suit making a god-awful clanging noise with each step. Joker was not pleased.

"Look, I don't care how bad the chafe is, do you mind?" The pilot snapped, looking over his shoulder, his baseball cap giving his expression a menacing shadow. Shepard said nothing, just stopped pacing. Joker turned back to the controls, followed by, "I didn't get a response to my hails and it looks as dead as a doornail. Want to try boarding this haunted house? Humor the Alliance."

Not sure he was all that comfortable calling it "haunted," exactly, Shepard replied, "Sure, just make sure the guns on that thing don't point at use while we prepare to board." Making for the exit, he now found he was carrying a bad feeling he just couldn't shake.

The MSV Yutani was a wholly unimpressive Kowloon-class freighter. Of mass-produced design, Shepard could probably walk through it with his eyes closed. Making his way from the hatch into its main hallway, he wasn't terribly surprised to find it like he expected it, completely deserted. And yet, despite its absolute stillness, he still couldn't ignore this nagging feeling in the back of his mind something was wrong. "Wrong" not implying the ship was simply taken over by batarian pirates, as that was to be expected in a case like this part of the Verge. No, Shepard's gut feeling was something else had happened here. Curious, and wanting something to report back to Hackett, Shepard made his way through the ship.

Strangely enough, much of the ship was still running. While most ships of this class can run on minimal energy for three months without having to use the emergency fuel stores, this one should've been dead, as Shepard made the estimate that it's been floating around for well over twice that amount of time. He was starting to think this was not just a run-of-the mill MSV ship with some firepower slapped on it. Making his way to the ship's helm, Shepard figured he'd try his luck and see if he could unlock any of this mystery ship's secrets.

Not a decryption specialist by trade, Shepard found his first attempts at accessing any of the ships logs an embarrassing failure. After a few more tries, a little dumb luck and some well placed smacks to the keypad, he was in. Job well done, he told himself with a satisfied smile.

Clicking the call button that was situated on the neck of his suit, he hailed the Normandy. "Joker, our first guess was right, this place is dead as dead can get. I found some of the ships logs, I'm sending them now. Think you could get someone to format them to an OSD by the time I get out of this damn armor?"

Joker was quick to return with sarcasm. "Nothing beats a fifteen hour flight to learn something we already knew, eh Commander?"

Shepard allowed himself a chuckle, "Just get me those OSDs, okay, Joker?" He ordered in good humor.

"Can do, Normandy out."

With the connection cut, Shepard shook his head, all this for a goose chase. Shutting down the MSV Yutani for good measure, he made his way to head back aboard the Normandy. Time to get out of this damn suit, and then tell Hackett about what a fun little adventure he had just sent him on.

By the time he was on the Normandy and back in his on ship uniform, he was informed by Joker that the data was successfully formatted and he could review it in the comm. room. Apparently, whoever was on that ship had tried to send a recorded message to an office in C-Sec.

Back in the comm. room, Shepard played the recording. At first, it was nothing but white noise, than after the sound jumped a bit, a voice. It was a man's voice, and most likely human as it didn't have the metallic tone of a turian, the heavy breathing of a volus or the rapidity of a salarian. It was coming in choppy; Shepard had to listen in closely.

"_Tyrrus…"_ The voice sounded pained and a little panicked. _"I don't know if this message will reach you in time, or at all."_ Static broke the messages flow, starting again with, _"-that you don't want to even speak to me, but what I need to-"_ It skipped back into static, _"-working as an informant with her. Its gone south and they're starting to suspect something, took them long enough. They're taking us to a new location, please, I know you don't-"_ Whoever was speaking, was starting to talk faster, more anxious, and again the message skipped, _"Kepler-"_ static, _"-terrestrial base used by Cerb-"_ static, _"no time-"_ The terrified man was cut off as his message was lost into white noise. Shepard turned it off, deeply unsettled by what he had heard.

He spoke with Joker about it shortly after. "Any chance of finding out what office in C-Sec that was sent to?"

Joker shrugged, "I'll see what any of the crew who know that extranet bullcrap can pull up. All we've managed to figure out is that whoever sent that sent it almost two years ago and was making damn sure it'd be a challenge for anyone to find out where it was going."

Shepard didn't think it would've been easy, "Anything else?"

Joker nodded in the affirmative, "Yeah, looked through the logs you brought up, something did catch my eye."

"And what would that be?"

"That ship? It had an autopilot command that someone had overridden. Looks like that ghost ship of yours was scheduled to take a cruise right into a nearby sun, not my idea of a sunny getaway, if you ask me."

"You're kidding." Shepard said with an unexpected amount of eagerness, of course this wasn't cut and dry. And he thanked his lucky stars for it.

"God's honest, Shepard." Joker came back with a smile, sensing his Commander's new found fervor.

His pilot's grin was contagious. "Let's try and find out who this message was sent to. Joker, we're going back to the Citadel."

"Aye-aye, _mon capitaine_."


	2. Chapter II

Haha, oh goodness that update took longer than expected. Two family deployments in the course of one month had me drained dry. But I promise for speedier updates and lengthier chapters now that I have a more flexible schedule.

Thanks so much to those who've waited patiently and given me much need nudges to finish. Where would I be without you all?

* * *

**Chapter II, I Like What You've Done With The Place**

Shepard never really stopped to openly praise the patience of his crew. Which was a shame, really, because for all his planet hopping and nasty habit of leaving no stone unturned and need to indulge his feelings of, shiny-looking-oh-could-that-be-a-space-artifact. His crew's patience with their Commander was saint-like, indeed. This truth was very prevalent today as a crew who could put up with taking flight to one end of the galaxy just to drive back without mutiny or a barbeque with Spectre on the menu deserved metals of the highest honor.

When the docked back in the Citadel, a crewman had already inscribed the mystery recording they had come across near Elysium onto the Commander's omni-tool. So, without his usual shore party, the now lone Spectre saluted his XO, leaving command to him in his absence and left his ship to get his nose dirty and do a little sleuthing. Sighing glumly, as was commonplace now, he walked into the elevator that connected the docking bay to the C-Sec Academy in what was sure to be a long, quite ride.

His first stop was to Executor Pallin's office up in the Embassies, as surely the head of C-Sec had the means to tell him which office under his control that message was attempting to reach. Suffice to say, despite the professional and cordial attitude Shepard put on for Pallin's benefit went unnoticed as the executor made it clear by the almost-hostile presence he radiated that he was in no mood to return the demeanor.

"Executor," Shepard began, standing stiffly in the crosshairs of the turian's imposing, and no doubt practiced, glare, "I was hoping you could help me on my latest investigation."

Pallin responded by holding his arms like he was either preparing for crucifixion or to give him a great, big bear hug. And Shepard had serious doubt about either of those possibilities. Quickly, then he noticed it was the executor's moody way of drawing his attention to the bullet-ridden and crumbled state of the office. Reconstruction of the Citadel had only been going one for little over a month, so no doubt they hadn't reached Pallin's office yet. Well, that shed light on some of the turian's reasons for looking like someone pissed in his coffee this morning.

"I'm a little preoccupied trying to sort through this crap right now." Pallin replied shortly, lowering his arms to prop his elbows back onto his desk, looking at the Commander with scrutiny over his clasped together hands (claws). The old turian then added, "Not that I'd expect a Spectre to really care about my own busy schedule."

Shepard took this as a stubbornly opened window to continue the conversation. "I'm sorry to hear that you're so tied up, Executor," he started, still trying to lay on the pleasantries, "but…"

If turians had some kind of invisible eyebrows, Pallin was probably raising one of them in suspicion.

"I was hoping you could look at this recording I found." He went on, "It was on a derelict ship near Elysium and was trying to reach an office in C-Sec. It sounded urgent and I'd like to know which office failed to receive it."

There was a pregnant pause between the two, awkward, ending when Pallin shook his head and came back with, "Like you have to ask." And judging by his tone, Shepard surmised this wasn't because it was an issue the executor was more than happy to help with.

"You Spectres, always come in here, guns blazing and-"

Shepard swallowed, "If this is about your office, executor-"

Pallin's chilly gaze dropped ten more degrees, "This isn't about my office, Shepard," he bit back before going back to his previous defamation. "Like I was saying, you Spectres come in here, your bravados all ablaze and expect every other Citadel department bend to your every whim."

Shepard shifted on his feet some, folding his arms behind his back and adjusting his posture, taking every bit of the executor's heat. "Well, sir," He started, adding "sir" as a means to flatter the turian, it didn't seem to be working, "I'm sorry you see me trying to carry out an investigation as means to polish my own ego." The Commander said this without any derisive tone, making the implied acidity much more poisonous.

Another pause, before, with a slacking on his shoulders, Executor Pallin replied with as much enthusiasm as someone going into a wake, "Alright, show me this recording or yours, unlike you, I don't have all day for this."

"_-terrestrial base used by Cerb- no time-"_

The message ended with the same rolling waves of static it did the first time Shepard heard it, the same hairs on the back of his neck raised, as well. He switched off his omni-tool and looked back at Pallin, whose posture stiffened greatly from where he sat over the course of the message. Without remarking on it, Shepard made to ask, "Now, do you think you could identify-"

Pallin cut him off, "I won't need to look into what office that was sent to."

Shepard's look of confusion was an even better response then his, "Wait, what?"

Though turian features lacked defining facial muscle, Pallin could still hold an annoyed grimace with the best of them. "I'm saying, looking into where that was sent would be irrelevant. I know who that message was for and why it didn't get here."

Another pause, after a few too many seconds of it, Shepard cut it with, "Annnnnd?"

Man, that turian could hold a stare to put Novaria to shame. "If you'd let me finish." He replied stormily. Like he hadn't been waiting, Shepard noted with a mental eye-roll.

Pallin seemed to sense this and his voice grew more exasperated, "What I'm saying is, that message you showed me was, what, sent out two years ago?"

Shepard nodded to the affirmative, "Two years or there abouts."

"Well," Pallin continued, "the office that message was sent out to, was closed four years ago."

Shepard was, almost, speechless as his stomach dropped to the floor. "How do you-"

"Know that?" Pallin finished on the Commander's behalf, peppering it with a cynical bark of laughter. "The name in that recording, Tyrrus, is turian and we've only had one of those in this department in the last few years. It's a rare name, by turian standards."

Pallin looked less-than-pleased to be familiar with whoever it was, regardless, Shepard pushed, "And why-"

"Was their office closed?" Again, Pallin took the liberty of speaking for the Commander, and again, Shepard internally said something not deemed for pleasant conversation. The executor continued, "He was transferred out, by means which I'm sure you're very familiar with."

The clipped tone and resentment in that last statement answered the Commander's next question for him. "He…was a made a Spectre?"

Pallin snorted in such a pissed off manner, that Shepard knew he was right.

"And the worst kind, if you ask me. Which is really saying something, _Commander_."

Shepard didn't much care for the way Pallin said 'Commander,' but didn't comment on it. It was safe to say their professional relationship, on his part, was a game of grin and bear it. "Sorry to see him go, Executor?" Forcing every bit of unaffectedness like it was a bad tasting pill that needed swallowing.

"Hardly," Pallin snapped, "bastard used family influence to get the post. Perversion of an already perverse system, if you ask me."

Shepard wasn't asking him that, but let him have his vent. "Any chance of you helping me find him?"

Pallin sniffed, "You know I don't have access to the activates of Specters, Spectre."

"No, but you have an ear to the ground as head of C-Sec, right?"

The third and final pause seemed longer than its predecessors. Finally, as if holding up the white flag of defeat, if just to get Shepard the hell out of his office, Pallin sighed with enough force to blow a house down, or two.

"Last I heard that dullstone was off somewhere sniffing around a human research outpost in the Grissom system." Pallin now had the attitude of someone very sorely defeated, "Now, can I have my office back?"

Shepard sighed, not in melancholy like usual, but in relief. Relief that he had a lead and relief this encounter was over. Saying his poorly received thank-yous, he left, but not without first stopping at the doorway to say, "By the way, Executor…" he didn't finish until he felt Pallin's eyes back on him, "I love what you've done with the place."

Shepard smiled as he heard something heavy being tossed against the closed to behind him.

* * *

_Elsewhere, __Armstrong Nebula / Grissom System / Notanban moon_

_

* * *

  
_

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was familiar with the awkward situation that afflicted most of her race where you'd be looking at a member an alien race and swore you've just passed ten of their clones. While she wasn't going to make the blanket statement that all aliens looked alike, she challenged her species to pick, say, a salarian they just met out of a busy crowd. Not that easy, if you think about it. But, like any other race in the galaxy, there were the ones who stuck out like a sore thumb. Ni'kir was defiantly one of these.

She'd known this turian not even all of five minutes ago and she'd knew for a fact she'd have no problem picking him out of a crowd, ever. For one, he was the size of a brick shithouse, even in comparison to his race, which was infamous for causing more than a few strained necks when it came to looking them in the eye. Secondly, he had just saved her life.

Pinned down and hold up in the back of a lab that looked like it had seen better, less gun fire filled day, the two found themselves in the midst of conversation as they hid behind to large crates during a temporary cease fire.

"This isn't the first time." She noted, to her situational partner's confusion. She expanded by adding, with a hint of a smile, "Having my ass saved by a Spectre."

This did not fully alleviate the turian's confusion until Ashley gave a (very) brief summary of her last couple of months of service. Needless to say, her Spectre ally was deeply impressed.

"By the way, what did you say your name was, again?" She asked while pressing a pack of medi-gel against a bleeding tear on the leg of her armor. Fucker that got that lucky shot was going to get it.

As he helped her compress the medical salve to her injury, more out of chivalry then necessity, he felt this was the third time answering this question. The Spectre responded with a deep, resonating voice that sounded as if it were cast out of some rare and precious metal.

"Tyrrus, Chief Williams. It's Tyrrus."


End file.
